


Over the Edge, Over Again

by vix_spes



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Mission Fic, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a conversation with Madeleine teaches Bond a few home truths, he has a decision to make. Does he stay where he is or take a step into the unknown and allow himself to step over the edge into love once more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beili](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beili/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the worth of your doorway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5719639) by [beili](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beili/pseuds/beili). 



> This art instantly captivated me when I first saw it in previews and it has been a delight to write for. Please please please go and leave beili all of the love because it is so deserved. This fic has caused me no end of trouble in the last few months and I have lost count of the number of times I've scrapped everything and started again. Finally, things have started to fall into place. So, have my attempt to rectify Spectre! Massive thanks to gwylliondream and mightypretty who have held my hand, acted as soundboards, listened to me moaning, picked up my stupid typos and generally been all kinds of wonderful. Thank you my darlings!

Despite the fact that he’d walked away from Her Majesty’s Secret Service twice now, Bond had found it hard to completely abandon MI6, especially this time. After the events of the card game in Montenegro and the development of his relationship with Vesper, Bond hadn’t hesitated in leaving MI6 for her. For them. There had been no doubts or second thought before he submitted his resignation. It hadn’t been as simple as that this time.

He had stood in the middle of Westminster Bridge with Oberhauser held at gunpoint at his feet. At one end of the bridge was Madeleine and the promise of a life away from MI6. Away from the killing, away from the shadows. It was a tempting prospect. At the other end of the bridge was MI6. M, Q, Tanner and Moneypenny. The only life that Bond had ever really known. The life that he kept returning to time and time again. It was so tempting to shoot Oberhauser or Blofeld, whatever he was calling himself, but Bond had never been one to do what was expected. And for that reason alone – he had no other – he had claimed to be out of bullets and walked towards Madeleine, away from MI6. Although, as it turned out, that wasn’t entirely true.

He didn’t know if Madeleine knew, but he had kept a phone that he used to keep in touch with his former colleagues. Well, one that he used to keep in touch with Bill Tanner. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was an MI6-sanctioned phone or not; truthfully, he had never asked. If you were to ask the majority of MI6, then of course it had to be a sanctioned phone if it came from Bill Tanner, MI6’s Chief of Staff and all-round paragon of virtue. Only Bond and a handful of others still in the service knew that truth. That Bill Tanner had once been a double-0 agent himself. It had been a few years ago now but, despite his reputation as being a complete and utter stickler for the rules, Bond knew that Bill would happily bend or completely ignore the rules if he felt that, in doing so, he got the best result. As such, Bond didn’t know if the mobile that he had found was officially sanctioned but, upon the discovery that the only listed number was Tanner’s, Bond didn’t bother to ask. What was the point? Official or not, he was getting the information that he wanted.

Or, to be more precise, information that Bond wanted on one specific person. Strangely, the person that Bond had found himself missing the most wasn’t Moneypenny or Tanner, it was his Quartermaster. Much to Bond’s surprise – and he was sure that he wasn’t the only one – he and Q had settled into a firm friendship after the events of Skyfall. It was definitely a new concept for Bond. For so long, his colleagues had been precisely that – nothing more than colleagues, people that he worked with. He wasn’t really friends with any of them.

There was a certain camaraderie amongst the double-0 agents but that was forged from being in the same programme and being able to empathise with each other over what they saw and did rather than any real friendship. Besides, how was it possible to maintain friendships when they were so rarely in the country at the same time? No, he may be closer to the double-0 agents than other MI6 employees but he still wouldn’t describe them as friends. He wasn’t completely certain how to describe his relationship with Eve Moneypenny but friendship didn’t really work. He supposed that the relationship he had with Tanner came closest – they very occasionally went out and had a drink together as well as a conversation that wasn’t shop talk - but even that came nowhere close to the relationship that he shared with Q.

Q was, quite frankly, unlike anyone that Bond had ever met. He was certainly unlike any other Quartermaster that Bond had had; the fact that Bond had only ever had two quartermasters including the current one was not the point. Once Bond had got over his amazement that this mere slip of a man was the Quartermaster of MI6, he had found himself fascinated by Q. After all, it took balls to treat the first meeting with one of MI6’s deadliest agents almost as a pick-up. All of that bollocks about the inevitability of time and age being no guarantee of efficiency.

Q, much to Bond’s delight, proved to be just as intriguing running missions as he had been in the National Gallery. He had never seen Q around in Q-branch prior to him becoming Quartermaster – not that he had ever paid much attention to the minions, but he was sure that he would have remembered this particular one – which meant that Q had to have been hidden away in one of the R&D labs before. Boothroyd had never been particularly good at dealing with agents on missions and had always left that to his minions, much preferring to spend his time in R&D coming up with new wild and wonderful gadgets. Q was nothing like that. He was a wonderful inventor – although Bond was still disappointed that he had never received an exploding pen – and he was an equally efficient head of Q-branch.

Not to mention that Q had an entirely original style of directing agents. Bond had certainly never been told to “put his back into it” before. Then again, Bond hadn’t been expecting a boffin with a personality, especially when said boffin looked about 12. Bond may have been somewhat distracted by the personal aspect of his mission but Q’s sarcastic commentary had certainly made things go a lot quicker. Then there had been the fact that Q had been willing to risk his own position to help Bond on an unofficial mission, something that earned him a lot of points in Bond’s book. In fact, despite Q’s words, Q definitely had a promising career in espionage as far as Bond was concerned.

That opinion hadn’t changed the longer that Bond had worked with Q. In fact, he had never believed it more. Without a doubt, Q was the best Quartermaster that MI6 had ever had. After a minor blip as a result of Silva, Q had simply grown in confidence in his role as a branch head. It was a source of genuine pleasure – and no little amusement – to watch Q swan around Q-branch, his minions fluttering around him like a flock of ducklings hanging on their overlord’s every word as he dispensed orders, accepted files and signed off on work. Even more to Bond’s delight was that Q didn’t lose his sarcasm or his biting wit. If anything, it increased with the apparent ineptitude of what seemed like every single agent within MI6. It would seem that, as far as Q was concerned, there wasn’t any agent capable of bringing back equipment and Bond was just the worst of the lot.

More and more frequently, Bond found himself spending time in Q-branch when he wasn’t on mission. The first few times that he had done it, he had received a sharp look from Q accompanied by a caustic comment that Bond clearly had far too much time on his hands if he was willingly spending time around the boffins. The boffins were clearly unsettled by the frequent presence of a double-0 in their sanctuary, proving even more jittery when Bond was around with some of them even running away. Still, they stopped running quite so scared when he didn’t stop the habit to the point where Q eventually started using him to test prototypes, he was there so frequently. Some of them even started to look on approvingly when Bond learnt how to make Q’s tea to his specifications as well as bringing the odd meal.

Bond still wasn’t sure if he would describe the relationship that he and Q shared as friendship. Maybe he didn’t know what that truly was after such a long time alone but, what he did know was that what he had with Q – whatever it was – was the closest thing to friendship that he had had in a long time.

(~*~)

The problem for Bond was that once they returned to Austria he was, to all intents and purposes, living the life of the idle rich and it didn’t sit well with him. He just wasn’t someone who dealt well with nothing to do and that was precisely the situation that he found himself in. As soon as they had arrived back in Austria, Madeleine had returned to work at the Hoffler Clinic leaving Bond to occupy himself. That in and of itself was something that he was capable of and he succeeded for a while.

While a large majority of his missions in recent years had taken place in tropical climes, Bond had always felt an affinity with snow and ice. Oberhauser may have tainted them somewhat but Bond still had fond memories of all the years that he had spent in Austria. After all, a large portion of his childhood and teenage years had been spent on skis. He hadn’t skied at all during his years in the Navy but his skills had been called upon more than a few times since he had become an agent.

Not only had he grown up in Switzerland with all of the options for skiing available that anyone could want, both of his parents had been keen climbers and skiers. They had died while attempting to scale the north-east ridge of the Aiguille de la Persévérance, a climb that Bond had later completed successfully himself. Even after his parent’s death when he had been sent to live with his Aunt Charmain, he had spent as much time as possible in Kitzbühel climbing and skiing with Hannes Oberhauser. Or, at least he had done until Hannes had disappeared, supposedly in mysterious circumstances although Bond now knew differently.

He had relished the opportunity to remember everything, relearning tricks and skills long forgotten, spending long days out on the various pistes. Still, after serving in both the Navy and the SIS, all of the black and orange slopes couldn’t keep him occupied forever and the time to himself left him with too many opportunities to think. And if there was one thing that Bond hated, it was too much time to think.

~*~

In all honesty, Bond was actually surprised at how long he had lasted before the restlessness set in. it was a gradual thing, building in its own time rather than him suddenly waking up one morning and realising that he didn’t want to be there anymore. That he didn’t love Madeleine Swann as much as she deserved. There was no denying that she was a beautiful and intelligent woman and his time with her had hardly been arduous but there was no spark there, no true connection. He simply didn’t love her enough to stay forever. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he loved her at all.

Bond was well-aware that there were plenty of people who would think him crazy for not being satisfied. He was one of the lucky few; a double-0 agent who had walked away from MI6 with his life. Not only had he walked away with his life but he had done so with the beautiful and intelligent Dr. Madeleine Swann at his side. Even so, if felt as though there was something missing.

It had been six months since he and Madeleine had left London in the Aston Martin DB5 that Q had so lovingly restored to pristine perfection. He knew that it was maybe a bit cruel to take the car – he had seen something on Q’s face, a slight flicker that had made him pause momentarily – but he had taken it anyway.

He had thought to ask Q – press him on his reaction – ask just why he didn’t want Bond to take the car when it was so patently obvious that Q had rebuilt it for him. But Madeleine had been waiting for him and so Bond had pointedly put it out of his mind and taken the car anyway, unable to stop the smile that had sprung to his lips as the car had roared to life under his hands before settling to purr contentedly, a testament to the hours that Q had put into it. Even now, despite the long drive from London to Austria, it was still in pristine condition, Bond succumbing to a need that he couldn’t quite put a name to, an urge to keep in the car in such immaculate condition that Q couldn’t do better himself.

Now, the car was nothing more than a reminder of what he had left behind.

~*~

“Why are you still here James?”

Bond paused in the action of pouring drinks for them both and looked over his shoulder to where Madeleine sat, looking just as elegant lounging on the sofa in slacks and a jumper as she had done on the train in Tangiers. “What are you talking about?”

He watched as Madeleine uncurled herself and moved across the room towards him, picking up her glass and taking a sip before she answered him.

“Why are you still here – with me – when it’s patently obvious that you don’t want to be?”

Bond took a large swallow from his own glass, feeling it burn down his throat, before he spoke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Of course I want to be here. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“You say that, but you don’t truly mean it.”

This was what Bond hated about living with Madeleine. She was incapable of detaching herself from her job. She was always a psychologist, whether she was at the clinic or the home that they had made for themselves and he found that difficult to deal with. She constantly wanted to dissect his thoughts, get inside his head. She wanted to do the very thing that Bond had spent his entire career trying to avoid; talk about why he did what he did.

He should have known that she would be like this when she had tried to get inside his head after they had left L’Americaine, wanting to know why he did what he did. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he didn’t stop to think about it; he never had and he wasn’t planning on starting now. He did what he did because he was good at it and he enjoyed it. He had no intention of analysing precisely what he did and why he did it. What was the point? Madeleine didn’t understand that. Bond’s hatred of psychologists was no secret at MI6 and it was a widely acknowledged fact that he would avoid them wherever possible. Unfortunately, in living with Madeleine, it was impossible to avoid.

“Madeleine, stop with all of the professional talk. I’m not one of your clients paying an obscene amount of money to have their brains taken apart. You know I hate psychology so will you just bloody get on with it.”

“Okay then. Are you aware that ever since you received a phone call on that mobile – the one you think I don’t know about - you haven’t had single night of restful sleep? You toss and turn and call out one name, over and over again. I do not think I need to tell you that it isn't my name.”

Bond knew exactly what name was going to fall from Madeleine’s lips, even before she said it. Q. He hadn’t been aware that he had been dreaming of his former Quartermaster but, now that Madeleine had mentioned it, it made sense.

He had kept in sporadic touch with Tanner, receiving phone calls when the Chief of Staff found time. All of the conversation was based around MI6 and how they were dealing with the fallout from both Oberhauser and Nine Eyes. Somehow, because everyone underestimated Tanner, he was often privy to information and gossip that otherwise no-one would want him to know, all of it carefully filed away in case he could use it at a later date.

Knowing Bond's personal interest in Oberhauser, Tanner was more than willing to pass on anything that the head of Spectre gave them which, in actuality, was very little. Oh, he had been more than happy to wax lyrical about how he had enacted his vendetta against Bond but anything else, anything about the running of Spectre, he hadn't said a word. MI6 had deployed their best interrogators to no avail; he still hadn't spoken. With no other course left to him, M had had to settle for seeing him incarcerated in a maximum security prison under constant guard.

That hadn't surprised Bond in the slightest. He had had the feeling that Oberhauser had been playing a long game but, even if he was, that wasn't Bond's concern. Neither was Bond surprised that MI6 had bounced back so quickly from the aftermath of Nine Eyes and C's meddling. That was their MO, it was what they did. Seeing as Oberhauser had brought the demolition of Vauxhall Cross ahead of schedule and Nine Eyes had been brought down, the rebuilding had gone full speed ahead.

To be perfectly frank, Bond didn't give a fuck about any of it. All he wanted to know was how Q was doing, but he had to bide his time piecing together whatever scraps of information Tanner mentioned. He couldn't press or Tanner would get suspicious. He already knew that Q had been instrumental in bringing C’s machinations to an end and bringing an end to the Nine Eyes project but, given how brilliant Q was at his job, Bond had known that that had been inevitable. Still, it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Finally though, finally his patience had been rewarded in the very phone call that Madeleine was talking about. Even if the information wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

_**FLASHBACK**_

“The new building’s finally finished, thank god. Most of the other departments are in already but we have to move Q-branch and R&D over and that’s going to be a nightmare. Still, at least it means we get Q out of those bloody tunnels. He’s been bitching about them ever since they moved in but they were the only place with the space that his lot needed. Moneypenny swears that the cold and the damp down there is why it took him so long to heal.”

Bond, who had up until then simply been hmm-ing in all of the correct places, suddenly directed all of his attention to Tanner on the other end of the phone. “Heal? What are you talking about? Why would Q need to heal?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone as though Tanner was deliberating what to tell Bond. It didn’t take too long for Bond to lose his patience. “Oh for fuck’s sake Bill, just tell me.”

“Q was shot, James, by the same men that tried to take out you and M. After they rammed your car and took you, they shot at our car. Took out part of the front windscreen and the back window where Q was sitting, nicking his neck in the process. Not that it stopped him from taking down Nine Eyes. There’s nobody as good with a computer as our Q. Still, it shook him; he’s barely left his temporary Q-branch in the tunnels since you left. Especially when you also take into account the fact that some Spectre goons went after him in Austria.”

“Again Bill, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know exactly, Q only told us in the vaguest terms. Something about being cornered in a ski-lift by some hench-men and having to do some quick thinking to dodge them. I think that was it.”

Bond scrubbed a hand across his face and then through his hair. This was the first that he had heard about any of this. “Why did you never tell me any of this?”

“Honestly James, we thought you already knew. Look, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll speak to you soon.”

_**END FLASHBACK**_

“So I’ve had a few dreams. That’s hardly out of the ordinary or anything to be concerned about. What are you really trying to say?”

“That man, Q? The one who came for you in Sölden, who is he to you?”

“He is – was – my Quartermaster. That’s all.”

“Is that all he is to you? Your former Quartermaster? The way that you’ve been behaving since that phone call isn’t the way that most people would act after hearing news of a former colleague, even one that they were friendly with. If I did not know you better, I would say that you had strong feelings for the man. Perhaps even feelings of love?”

Bond’s hand clenched around his glass and he knocked back the whole measure of scotch in one gulp, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Madeleine.”

He heard rather than saw her shake her head at his denial. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself James?”

(~*~)

Once Madeleine had brought the subject up, had revealed her suspicions, Bond had been unable to stop thinking about her words. Unable to stop thinking about Q. If he were being truthful, Q had never really left his thoughts but he had never thought of Q as Madeleine was now suggesting. At least not consciously. As a result, he found himself scrutinising his relationship with Q and analysing every single interaction between them that he could.

The results surprised him.

Bond had known that his relationship with Q was unique, that it was different to every other relationship he had ever had, but he hadn’t realised just how different it was. They had quickly established a good working relationship that had been filled with sarcastic banter and witty asides right from the beginning but what Bond hadn’t realised were the sexual undertones that had also been a part of their relationship from the very beginning. Not only that but he hadn’t realised that it wasn’t one-sided; the innuendos came from both of them. Until he really thought about it, he hadn’t understood quite how much he flirted with Q over the comms and, perhaps more importantly, how much Q flirted with him. For the first time, he understood the look on Q’s face when he had left with the DB5; hurt.

For the first time, Bond started to think about Q as something other than his Quartermaster. Started to view him as a prospective romantic interest.

There was no denying Q’s appeal and Bond didn’t see the need to even try. It was a very effete appeal but it was appealing nonetheless. Q’s horrifically patterned and obnoxiously coloured designer wardrobe may be an offence to Bond’s sartorial style but it didn’t detract from Q’s attractiveness. The man was bloody attractive and he garnered as many approving glances as Bond himself around Vauxhall. How could he not? Q might be slim but he definitely wasn’t scrawny and had an arse so plush that Bond wouldn’t be surprised if half the women at MI6 were jealous of it. Combined with all of that pale skin, cheekbones that could cut glass, unruly mop of hair and green eyes Q provided quite the tempting prospect.

By admitting his attraction to Q, Bond was hardly throwing himself into the depths of a sexual crisis. He might not have ever been in a relationship with a man but that didn’t mean that he’d never had encounters with them or never been attracted to one. There had been a few over the years, most of them in the service of Queen and Country; they had just never made it into the mission reports so no-one at Vauxhall knew about them.

What Bond did know was that he couldn’t hide here in Austria forever. He didn’t belong here but, more than that, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back in MI6, where he belonged. He wanted to be sent out on missions, wanted the thrill of what he did best. He missed the life and, well, he missed Q. He knew that he had fucked up massively where the younger man was concerned and he wanted to try and make up for that although god knows how he was going to do that.

When he had come to these realisations, he had gone to find Madeleine who had taken one long look at him before she spoke.

“I was right.”

“Maybe. What I know without a doubt is that MI6 is where I need to be. Where I belong. Being a double-0 is who I am. I can’t be anything different.”

“And your Quartermaster?”

“He’s my Quartermaster. He’s Q. He is, _was,_ a good friend and the most competent Quartermaster that I’ve ever had.” Bond paused, knowing that he was avoiding the real question and took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. This isn’t exactly a situation that I’ve been in before. Technically, he’s my superior yet he has risked his career multiple times to save my life. To my knowledge, he hasn’t done that for any of the other double-0’s or any of the other field agents. He’s brilliant, sarcastic and a pain in my arse. I suppose that, yes, I’m attracted to Q on more than one level. What I feel for him is a harder question but yes, I believe that I feel more strongly for him than I do for someone who should just be a colleague or even a friend. Do I want to pursue it, whatever it is? I’m not sure.”

“I think that you are sure. You know how you feel all too well, you are just afraid to admit it. Afraid to admit that you love him. Still, if you feel that you belong there then go. Return to them, return to him.”

When Bond hesitated, Madeleine shot him a deprecating look. “I was perfectly fine without you in my life before, I will be perfectly fine again. I will not stay with a man who does not love me, who pines for a life that I do not condone nor want to be a part of. You do not want to change and I cannot change you; it would never work. Go James, I won’t say it again.”

What could he say to that? Truthfully, there was nothing that he could say and, if it were him in Madeleine’s place, Bond wasn’t sure that he would be acting with such dignity. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and left the room, pretending not to hear the hitch of her breath or the muted sob as he did so.

After their conversation, Bond didn’t waste any time in hanging around. What was the point? There was no need to prolong things and, as far as he was concerned, the sooner that he was out of there the better it was for Madeleine. It was clear that she felt more for him than he did for her and she didn’t need to have him hanging around when he had admitted a possible interest in someone else.

He had very little to pack and so, the morning after Madeleine told him to leave, Bond had packed his things into the DB5 and said his farewells with a final, gentle kiss before walking out of the door. Turning to cast one final glance towards Madeleine, Bond pulled out his phone and placed a call. It barely rang three times before it was answered.

“Tanner, it’s me. I’m coming back in. I’ll see you in a few days.”


	2. Part Two

In the end, Bond arrived back in London considerably earlier than he had told Tanner. Other than around 40km just as he left Sölden, it was motorways all the way to the EuroTunnel in Calais and he fairly flew all the way. Officially it took around twelve and a half hours to drive from Sölden to London although that obviously didn’t include the Channel crossing and presumed that whoever was driving stuck to the speed limits. Bond failed impressively at the latter. The Aston drove like a dream so he obviously wasn’t going to insult it by sticking to the speed limit.

While most people wanted to draw out the journey, stopping to take in the beautiful scenery of the Tirol, Bond had no such interest. With nothing more than the necessary breaks to refuel the car (and himself), Bond had only made two other stops at the beginning and end of his trip, both of them to buy gifts for Q. Laying on the passenger seat was an exceptionally good bottle of French champagne as well as the best (and biggest) Sacher torte that could be bought in Sölden. He knew that it was going to take some serious explaining and an awful lot of grovelling to get him even vaguely back in Q’s good graces but they would hopefully get him in the door at least.

Once back in London, he was faced with the standard question that he faced each time that he returned after one of his bouts of retirement or even death; where was he going to stay? He didn’t know if he still had an apartment or if MI6 had got rid of it already so, rather than trying to find out, he headed straight for Tanner’s house. Considering that it was the early hours of the morning, the London streets were pretty much deserted with the exception of a few taxis, the occasional night bus and a single solitary jogger so it took Bond no time at all to negotiate his way across the city to Tanner’s house in St John’s Wood.

Despite being impatient to resume his former life, he forced himself to sit in the car until he saw a light flick on in the house; he had only met Tanner’s wife a couple of times before but, much like her husband, she had a deceptively unthreatening appearance that belied her job as a high-ranking officer in MI5. The instant that he saw the light appear, Bond scooped up a couple of things and was out of the car, striding down the path and ringing the doorbell. It didn’t take long before he saw a shadow moving towards him and the door swung open to reveal Ruth, Tanner’s wife. Bond gave her his most winning smile, stepped inside as she rolled her eyes and allowed him to press a kiss to her cheek before she shouted up the stairs.

“Bill! It’s one of your lot, love!” They both heard a muffled thump accompanied by several expletives before Ruth turned to Bond with a smile, “coffee?”

Bond was halfway through his cup of coffee when Tanner appeared, still looking rather sleep-rumpled. He didn’t get any more cheerful when he realised who was sat at his kitchen table. “Oh for fuck’s sake Bond, it’s 5am in the morning. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hello Tanner, lovely to see you too. I told you, I’m coming back in.”

“And that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing sat in my kitchen at 5am in the morning. I thought it was only M who got home visits?”

“It used to be. You should feel honoured. I brought you presents too.” Bond pointed at the bottle of cognac and the boxed up Linzer torte, “I never brought M presents.”

“It’s far too early to be dealing with your shit. Fine, fine. Pour me a coffee will you? I’ll send Moneypenny a message telling her to keep things ticking over until I get in. but we’re not talking shop until I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“That’s fine by me. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Remind me why I like you again, Bond?”

(~*~)

An hour later found the two of them sat in Tanner’s living room with a fresh pot of coffee as Tanner tried to grasp Bond’s change of heart.

“Explain it to me one more time. Why the hell do you want to come back? I’m not complaining of course – an agent of your calibre is always welcome – I just don’t understand it.”

“I was bored. The life of the idle rich isn’t for me. Not after the Navy and here. Besides, you know me, I’m like a bad penny; I’ll always keep coming back.”

“Hmmm. And what of Dr Swann?”

“What about her?”

“Well, what about your relationship with her? Do I need to find a place for her on the MI6 psych team or have you left her broken-hearted in Austria?”

“Hardly broken-hearted. We came to the mutual decision that it would be best if we parted ways.” Bond paused, unsure as to how much to tell Tanner. In the end, he decided to be economical with the truth. “She knew my heart wasn’t in it. Wasn’t there. She said it was clear that I wasn’t going to be happy if all I wanted was to be here and I should just leave.”

“Well, her loss is our gain although I’m sure there are some people who will no doubt disagree.”

“Yes well, some people might think that you’d been angling for this – for my return – all along. Why else would you give me a phone and keep me up to date with things?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny your theory.” Both men chuckled before Tanner sobered up, “are you serious about this? About coming back in?”

“Deadly serious.”

“Right.” In seconds, Bill had been replaced by the more familiar façade of MI6’s Chief of Staff. “You’ll have to go through all of the standard tests, medical, psych evals. You knew that that would happen didn’t you? Standard protocol I’m afraid, especially as you’ve been gone six months. Mallory has already been informed that you’re coming back in so I can go ahead and get most of these scheduled already.”

Bond cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. “Ah yes, about that. Is there any way for me to complete the tests and be reinstated without Q overseeing any of the tests?”

Tanner’s answer was slow in coming but it was at least the answer that Bond had been hoping for. “Well it’s certainly unorthodox but I can preside over the tests that Q would normally take care of. You can come in with me and get psych and medical out of the way today. Q’s in budget meetings all day so you won’t run into each other.”

There was a pregnant pause before Tanner spoke again. “Look, this is bloody awkward for both of us but there’s no point dancing around the subject forever. Did you come back because you missed the job or because you missed Q?”

“Can’t it be both?” Bond kept his tone light but still ended up on the receiving end of one of Tanner’s death glares.

“This isn’t a joking matter James. I know you think that you were being subtle but did you really think I wouldn’t realise how you brought every single conversation round to him? I know that you were good friends before and you certainly flirted with each other enough. Hell, half of us had money in the pools on when you’d get together or at least shag but then you just upped and left with Dr Swann taking that blasted Aston with you. Look, I consider you both good friends and I’m not taking sides but you really hurt him.”

Bond resisted the urge to groan. “Trust me Tanner, I’m well aware of how much I fucked up.”

“Good. So, I ask again. Did you come back for the job or for Q?”

“Both. I missed the job but I won’t lie, Q played a big part in my decision. It seems as though your phone call – you know the one I mean – just tipped me over the edge. Apparently I was crying his name out in my sleep” Bond paused, unsure of just how much to tell Tanner before deciding that, no matter how alien it might feel, there was no harm in spilling his guts. Besides, Tanner was married; he had to have some suggestions for getting back in someone’s good graces.

“Madeleine seemed to be under the impression that the reason I wasn’t happy in Sölden, with her, was because I have strong feelings for Q. That I may be in love with him. She’s definitely right about the strong feelings but love? I don’t know but I want to find out. As long as Q doesn’t try to kill me the minute that he sees me, that is. How is he anyway?”

“Q? Oh, he’s just fine. He’s a tenacious little shit; bounced right back once we moved Q-branch over here. Drives half of the old guard crazy but the minions are legion and they adore their overlord. You’re going to have some serious grovelling to do before he’ll even talk to you, you know. It’s certainly not going to be easy. But, before you can get to see Q, we need to get you back into the programme. You’re lucky we haven’t given your number away yet. Come on, let’s get going, hand you over to the vampires in medical. They’re going to hate me; they were so pleased at not having to deal with you.”

As they made their way outside, Tanner caught sight of the Aston and gave a wry smile. “Well, that might buy you one brownie point at least.”

“That bad?”

“That bad.”

~*~

Three days later, Bond woke with the rather alien feeling of nervousness thrumming through his veins. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had felt nervous; it was an entirely unknown concept to him. This was ridiculous. All he was going to do was pay a visit to Q-branch. Okay, it would be the first time that he had seen Q since he had returned from Austria – assuming that the man would see him – but that shouldn’t make him feel like this. Feeling that his stomach was churning enough without subjecting it to breakfast as well, he settled for just having a cup of coffee and resisted the urge to nip down to the corner shop for some cigarettes. He couldn’t help but smile ruefully. Maybe Madeleine had been onto something if even the prospect of just seeing Q had him feeling like some infatuated teenage girl.

As of this morning, he was officially a double-0 agent once more. He had a meeting with Mallory before he could go down to Q-branch but it was nothing more than a courtesy meeting, a mere formality; Mallory had signed off on all of his paperwork the previous evening. To the disbelief of the medical team and to Bond’s infinite pleasure, he had practically breezed through all the tests, passing them all with flying colours (except the psych exam but then that was to be expected). In a nice boost to his ego, despite being the oldest double-0 agent in the programme, Bond was still the best; the test scores said so. Apparently the time in Austria had done him some good after all. He may have been bored out of his brains but the enforced downtime had actually given his body time to heal from all of the stresses that he put it under while all of the climbing and skiing had kept him in some semblance of shape.

Essentially, everything was set for the return of 007.

Much to his relief, Tanner had had his suspicions that Bond would be back and so had stalled the paperwork that would have had Bond’s belongings thrown out or put in storage and his flat sold so Bond had at least come home to his own familiar flat and clothing. Now, he dressed himself as if he were going into some sort of battle. Girding himself for the confrontation to come.

Bond had barely been out of casual clothing for the last six months. Clothing suitable for skiing and climbing or simple jeans and a jumper had become de rigeur. Yet, opening his wardrobe to reveal the multitude of Tom Ford and Brioni suits had been like greeting an old friend. He had never realised just how big a part of himself the suits had become, almost like a suit of armour, and while it felt strange to be back in them, it felt equally familiar.

He tried not to think too much about what he was wearing for the day but, even so, he realised once he had finished dressing that he was wearing exactly the same outfit that he had worn when he first met Q in the National Gallery. No doubt Madeleine would have a field day if she knew. He briefly considered whether her had time to change but decided against it, not wanting to piss Mallory off already. Instead, refusing to read anything into it other than mere coincidence, he grabbed the presents that he had bought for Q along with the keys to the Aston and headed for the door. This whole thing was going to go one of two ways; exceptionally well or a complete fucking disaster.

Personally? Bond was betting on the latter.

(~*~)

Bond drove the Aston into Vauxhall, parking it in the car parking space that was ostensibly reserved for Q but that he never used because he was inexplicably fond of the Tube. As he strolled through the building, he couldn’t help but be amused by the looks of amazement and shock that followed his arrival, all of them accompanied by a multitude of whispers. More than used to this exact thing happening almost every time that he returned to Vauxhall after his previous retirement and assumed death, Bond paid them no mind and carried on through to the executive office. Judging by the look on Eve Moneypenny’s face, Tanner had done a bloody good job of keeping Bond’s **r** eturn and reinstatement quiet from everyone. For an ex-field agent, Moneypenny’s thoughts were clearly visible on her face and Bond could clearly see that he was about to be quizzed so was incredibly relieved when the door to Mallory’s office opened and Tanner emerged.

“Ah, James, perfect timing. He’s ready for you now.”

“Thanks Tanner. Miss Moneypenny.” Bond nodded at them both and slipped past them into M’s office, clearing his throat to let the man know he’d arrived.

“Ah, Bond.”

Looking around, Bond could see that the room had been rebuilt exactly as before in the style of a gentleman's club. And, just as familiar, was Mallory sat behind his desk in shirt sleeves and braces with a rather harried look on his face as he read through paperwork. He set the papers down as Bond drew closer and gestured for Bond to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Well, the PM’s hardly going to be thrilled at your return but it’s good to have you back, Bond.”

Bond’s lips quirked at Mallory’s words – not words that he’d ever thought he would hear pass M’s lips – “My pleasure.”

“Now, as for what we're going to do with you. I’m not sending you out missions straightaway. I know that you’re more than capable of it and I am aware that we need your expertise out in the field but I need you to resolve something here first.”

“Q.”

“Yes. I’m not entirely sure what happened between the two of you and I don’t want to know. What I need is for it to be resolved and as quickly as possible. The two of you are a bloody good team - the best we've got - and I need you working effectively. I've been led to believe that that won't happen at the moment given whatever it is between you and that's less than ideal. I’m giving you three weeks to resume your working relationship and then I’m sending you out, even if it isn’t. Now, get out; I have to go and meet with the PM.”

“Sir.”

And that was it. Bond could now no longer put off the inevitable confrontation with Q. Ignoring Moneypenny’s clear curiosity, Bond headed straight for Q-branch, retrieving Q’s gifts from where he had stashed them as he moved into the lift.

When he emerged, it was into the hive of activity that was Q-branch. Dozens of minions – all of whom looked as though they should still be studying _somewhere_ whether it be school or university – were seated behind monitors, typing rapidly and he could see others working in the attached R&D labs. Q wasn’t at his usual console in front of the bank of monitors but, if Bond craned his neck, he could just about make out Q and R in the formers office. As he moved through the bullpen, a startled hush fell over the whole room as, one by one, the minions stopped what they were doing – more than a few of them skittering out of the way – the whole office grinding to a halt. Inevitably, it didn’t take Q long to notice, storming out of his office in a fury, R hot on his heels.

“Why the hell are none of you working? You don’t get paid to sit on your arses and drink tea.” Q’s diatribe ended as he arrived in the centre of the bullpen and caught sight of Bond, his face turning stony as he glanced Bond over and took in what he was wearing. “Bond. What the hell are you doing here? Unless I’m very much mistaken, seeing as this is MI6 and you are a civilian, you are trespassing. You have two minutes to leave before I call security and get them to escort you out.”

Bond tried to resist the urge to sigh. He had known that this wasn’t going to be easy but he hadn’t been expecting quite this much hostility.

“I don’t see you leaving Bond. I wasn’t joking about security. Do you know what the penalty is for civilians intruding on SIS property? Not insignificant jail time I believe.”

This was going to be considerably harder than Bond had been expecting. “You are correct. That is the penalty for civilians. However, I’m not a civilian. As of this morning, I’ve been reinstated into the double-0 programme. Luckily for me they hadn’t reassigned my call sign. I believe you should have the paperwork already.”

Bond watched as Q’s eyes narrowed as he started combing through the stacks of files on his console, clearly the files that had been delivered that morning.

“That’s impossible Bond. I oversee several tests for the double-0 programme and you haven’t taken them.”

“On the contrary, Tanner oversaw all of the testing and M signed off on everything late last night. All of the results should be in there and, as you can see, I passed with flying colours.”

“And at your age as well. Will wonders never cease. Fine, I suppose it’s all in order. Even if I am going to give Tanner a bollocking for going behind my back. Welcome back to MI6 I suppose, 007.”

“Thank you Q. I brought something of yours back, by the way.” Bond held out the key for the Aston, noticing how Q’s eyes widened before he snatched it out of Bond’s hand.

“Well, this morning is just full of surprises. This had better not be the only thing that you brought back; I expect there to actually be a car to go with this. Now, was there anything else that you wanted Bond?”

“I was hoping that I could talk with you.” Bond was more than aware that all of Q’s minions were listening avidly, undoubtedly hoping for some piece of salacious gossip that they could trade for favours. He was fairly certain that they were going to be out of luck on this particular occasion.

“Unless it’s about a mission - which is unlikely as this says you’re temporarily grounded for three weeks – I’m afraid that simply isn’t possible. I have far too much to do and I can’t drop everything simply because you’ve decided to waltz back in. How long are you going to be staying this time?”

“That’s hardly fair Q.”

“Don’t talk to me about what’s fair or not,” Q practically hissed. “Should I be asking where Dr Swann is? In fact, I don’t care. Get out of my branch Bond and the rest of you can stop listening to this conversation and get back to work; Bond’s just leaving.”

With that, Q waltzed back inside his office, leaving Bond hovering awkwardly in the middle of Q-branch, whispering breaking out around him as the minions gossiped unashamedly. Taking a deep breath and deciding that maybe a tactical retreat was in order, he left both the champagne and the Sacher torte on Q’s console before exiting the tunnels, feeling Q’s gaze on his back as he did so.

(~*~)

Undaunted by the frosty greeting that he had received from Q, Bond went back to Q-branch the following day as well the day after that and the day after that. In fact, once it became clear that he was going to become a permanent presence in branch, the minions stopped skittering around him quite so much and one particularly brave one had even asked him if he’d like a cup of coffee on the third morning.

Still though, Q refused to talk to him.

The annoying thing was that it seemed as though Q wanted to talk to him. At least that’s how it appeared to Bond. Q was always aware of where Bond was in the branch, eyes flickering over to him constantly as though he was checking that Bond hadn’t left. Bond had also been reliably informed that, after regarding it suspiciously for several hours, Q had all but demolished the Sacher torte that Bond had brought back for him. Apparently the champagne hadn’t gone down quite so well – R had said that Q had been angrily muttering something about arrogant bastards and cars.

Not that Q refusing to talk to him meant that Bond was giving up. He still went in every morning, waiting patiently for hours. Finally, on the seventh day, he hoped that he had made progress. For the first time since he had arrived back in Vauxhall, Q was heading for him seemingly with the intent of talking to him. This could finally be his opportunity to start the process of reconciliation between them. Of course, Bond’s hopes came crashing down the minute that Q opened his mouth.

“007, contrary to what you might think, you cannot spend all of your time hovering around Q-branch.”

“You never used to complain before.”

Q sniffed haughtily. “Yes, well, things change. Get out, you’re distracting the minions and you’re annoying me. And stop trying to bribe the minions; too much sugar is bad for them.”

Bond was hardly going to deny bringing in copious amounts of sugared confections; they made the minions less twitchy and more inclined to ignore him.

“You’re going to have to talk to me soon enough Q, you can’t avoid me forever.” Or at least Bond hoped not.

“Hmmmpf. We’ll see about that, won’t we? Now, I won’t repeat myself a third time. Get out of my branch, 007.”

“Q,” Bond couldn’t help the pleading tone that slipped into his voice, ignoring the look of shock from R who was standing close enough to hear.

It was R who eventually broke the silence when it became clear that Q wasn’t going to say anything, a sympathetic look on her face as she spoke gently. “I’m sorry Bond, maybe it would be best if you just went.”

Bond did as R asked, heading straight for M’s office. He may still have two weeks left of the agreement with M but Bond knew how his mind worked and nothing good was going to come out of him staying in London for the weekend. To his relief, Mallory could see how serious Bond was and handed him a mission that was nothing more than a milk run for Bond. A simple shoot and seduce. Something that he’d done a million times over. R had brought his equipment up to M’s office and Bond had been on a plane in under three hours.

When he landed, Q was in his ear. Bond had been right in that the mission was nothing more than a milk run. He had it accomplished in less than 24 hours. More importantly to Bond was the realisation that came with it.

Madeleine had been right. He was in love with Q. The problem was, having had Q in his ear for this mission, Bond had realised that the relationship between them may have been irretrievably damaged by Bond’s actions. Q might be on the other end of the comms but he wasn’t Bond’s Q, the one he had come to know and Bond missed his presence keenly. It was almost a physical ache. Gone was the witty banter, the little quips, the teasing, the aimless conversations about seemingly everything under the sun and the flirting. Q could have been any minion and Bond any field agent and wasn’t that a depressing thought. He was in deep. Hell, the only way that he’d been able to summon up even the slightest bit of interest in the mark – even to do his duty – had been to imagine Q.

He knew that, once he returned to London, he was going to have to redouble his efforts. He had to resolve this because, the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t going to be happy without Q and if he wasn’t going to be happy, he might as well have stayed in Austria.

(~*~)

After two weeks of futilely trying to get Q to talk to him, Bond was at the end of his rapidly fraying tether. Strange, how he could play the long game for weeks on end for a mission yet, where Q was concerned, he had about as much patience as a toddler. The problem was, Q was quite the contrary creature when he wanted to be – rather like the cats that he owned – and you couldn’t push him too much or you would scare him off. That was all well and good but Bond only had a finite amount of time to get things sorted, time that had all but run out. He had tried taking and utilising advice from both Tanner and R but none of it had helped; Q was still refusing to even give him the time of day. It was something that hadn’t gone unnoticed and Bond had been called into M’s office only that morning.

The conversation had gone precisely as Bond had expected. M had been apologetic enough but he had given Bond all the time that he could and Bond was needed in the field. Bond could hardly argue. M had been incredibly fair in giving Bond the time that he had; he doubted that Olivia Mansfield would have done the same. To be perfectly honest, he was actually relieved. Being around Q with things between them in their current state was excruciating but, masochist that he was, Bond kept dragging himself back for more. But then he read the file that M handed him and his relief faded somewhat.

Venice.

Of all the places that he didn’t want to return to, Venice was probably at the top of his list. He hadn’t been back since Vesper’s death and, if he had had his way, he’d probably never have gone back. Going back now was less than ideal but he would go where he was sent and without too many questions. A quick glance over the file showed that it looked as though it shouldn’t be too complicated – although you could never be sure – so he closed the file and, as soon as M dismissed him, headed down to Q-branch.

The second that he arrived, R directed him in the direction of Q’s office and the man was sufficiently absorbed in his work that he failed to notice Bond looming in the doorway until Bond actually spoke.

“Q. I believe you’re expecting me?”

“Yes. M said he was sending you out although I don’t know the particulars. Where are you going?”

“Venice.” Bond fought to keep his voice steady and was quite pleased with the results.

“Venice?”

Q wasn’t quite so successful, his voice wavering slightly on the word. Bond thought that he saw a flicker of concern in Q’s eyes but then dismissed it. “Yes. M said you had my equipment ready.”

“Yes, of course. Walther, radio tracker and Omega watch.” There was a slight pause before Q’s next words. “Do try to bring everything back in one piece.”

Bond couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped into his voice, caused by the weeks of futilely trying to talk to Q. “That makes it sound as though you actually want me to come back.”

Bond watched Q’s mouth open and close several times as he managed to make sounds but not form actual sentences. Finally, with a shake of his head, Q succeeded. “Why did you come back, Bond? Didn’t you have everything you wanted when you left with the car and the beautiful woman at your side?”

“Maybe we don’t realise what we really want until we have to live without it,” Bond smiled sadly. “As for why I came back. Well, I would have thought that the last three weeks would have given you some sort of clue.” Grabbing his equipment, Bond nodded at Q. “Goodbye, Q.”

~*~

“Do you have anything to say Mr Bond?”

Bond spat out a mouthful of blood before he smirked at the man who had just backhanded him across the face. “I think I should reconsider Italy as a holiday destination. Something here just doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

He grunted as his words just earned him another beating, his fourth in as many hours. The mission had been going well but then he’d been distracted by something, well someone, and it had become rather more complicated. He wasn’t entirely sure who these men were but they certainly seemed intent on him not surviving this. His responses and smart comments had earned him nothing but more brutality and, to be truthful, he was wondering why he had come back for more of this.

When, finally, the leader – or at least the one who had been doing all of the talking – drew his gun and took aim, Bond was ready. He had no regrets. He simply closed his eyes and waited. Instead of a bullet to his heart, he heard the sound of a very familiar gun firing three times and the thud of three bodies dropping to the floor. Opening his eyes, he saw something that he had definitely not been expecting; Q pointing a gun at the leader and dropping him like a stone.

“Q?”

The last person Bond had thought to see; his Quartermaster looking rather like some sort of avenging angel, Walther in hand, horrific cardigan and all.

“Yes Bond, it’s me.”

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Hello Q, nice to see you. Thank you for coming to rescue me. As for how I found you, how do you think? You still have my Smartblood in your system. Now, can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk, Q. Stop asking stupid questions.”

As is always the way with these things, Bond managed to stand but then tried to put his weight through his left leg and promptly crumpled to the ground with a bitten back moan.

“You were saying? Honestly, you are the most aggravating, infuriating man. How you are the best agent we’ve got is beyond me. Now, you’ll have to lean on me, get up.”

Bond did as he was told, wrapping an arm around Q’s shoulders and leaning on him heavily as Q directed them towards the doorway. For the first time he realised just how strong Q was. Despite his slight frame, there was clearly strong musculature there as Q barely stumbled, even with Bond leaning his full weight on him. As Q led the way out of wherever he had been held, Bond saw numerous bodies on the floor, all of them felled with perfect kill shots. The shot that Bond had seen Q take clearly wasn’t a fluke. Q had wiped these people out to get to Bond.

It gave him hope. Hope that had all but disappeared prior to this mission.

Surely there had to be more to this than simply the Quartermaster coming after one of his agents?

Surely.

“You brought the Aston?” Bond managed to slur out once they got outside and he saw the car waiting for him.

“Of course I brought the Aston. I was hardly going to fly, was I? Besides, it isn’t often that I get to drive the things I build. And considering how much time I put in on this particular car, I was hardly going to miss the opportunity to drive it. I had hoped to test drive the DB10 but then you went and dumped it into the bloody Tiber.”

“I said sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t bring back a multi-million pound car, 007. Just shut up and get in the car.”

Still a little stunned by what he had just seen Q do, Bond did as he was told, watching as Q expertly manoeuvred the Aston through the streets of Venice, handling it as easily as he had the Walther. Bond couldn’t help but be impressed through the slight haze that had started to descend. He watched as Q directed them to a small hotel, considerably less high-profile than the Belmond Cipriani he had patronised last time he was here. Still, given the state that Bond was in, that was probably for the best. Q proceeded to grumble as he somehow got Bond up into their hotel room unseen by any of the other guests and cleaned him up none too gently, constantly berating Bond until Bond had had enough. For the first time, he was starting to see how the women in his life felt. He was exhausted, in pain and, while the man he loved was there, he was hardly delighted to see Bond.

It was all too much.

“If I piss you off that much Q, if I’m that much trouble, why the fuck did you bother coming after me?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“You should have just sat down in your tunnels and let me die.”

The instant that the words left his mouth, Bond regretted them but it was too late; he couldn’t take them back. He watched as Q’s lips pressed together in a line so tight that they went white, emotions flashing through his eyes too quickly for Bond to decipher. Before Bond had the chance to even think about apologising, Q was storming towards the door muttering something about going for a walk.

Bond could do nothing but watch, trying desperately not to think about the last time someone he cared about had gone for a walk in Venice.


	3. Part Three

To say that Bond coped badly when Q went for a walk was an understatement to say the least. He felt helpless; something that he wasn’t used to feeling and something that he didn’t deal well with when he did feel it. His skin felt as though it was itching with the need to do something – anything – but what could he do? There was no point in him following Q. For a start, he would draw far too much attention given the state that he was in and the last thing that he needed was to be stopped and questioned. Not only that but he had no idea where Q had gone. His Quartermaster could be practically anywhere in the city by now and that was not a reassuring thought. Bond didn’t know if Q had taken the Walther with him or not. What if Q hadn’t managed to kill all of the men who had taken Bond? Q may have proved more than capable of taking care of himself with a gun but what about hand to hand combat? Q’s wiry strength would be useless if he was faced with someone like Hinx.

With nothing else to do but worry, Bond settled for the only thing he could do; pace. He poured himself a tumbler of whisky and took a mouthful before deciding that, as much as he wanted to drain the glass and have another, his head was already muzzy enough and he wanted to be as clear-headed as possible when Q returned. Leaving the almost full tumbler abandoned on the coffee table, Bond started to pace up and down the room, not caring a whit about the line of stitches that Q had so painstakingly sewn into his thigh not even half an hour earlier.

An hour later and Bond was starting to feel like a caged animal. Despite it being a rather sizeable room, after all of the pacing it felt distinctly cramped and claustrophobic. And that was without him feeling as though there were bands wrapped impossibly tight around his chest, making each breath feel like a struggle. Q’s neat handiwork hadn’t survived, the bottom two stitches having burst allowing blood to leak sluggishly from the wound. Not that it bothered Bond, who ignored it as he continued to stalk the room. After all, the worst that would happen would be that he ended up with a scar and what was one more when you took into consideration the collection that he already had.

As the two hour mark approached, both the tumbler of whisky and Bond’s knuckles bore the brunt of his frustration; the former smashing into hundreds of fragments after being hurled at the wall while the latter smashed into the same wall a short time later. Not caring that it wasn’t a secure line, Bond used the phone in the room to try and contact Q with the bathroom mirror and his knuckles taking yet more damage when the call went unanswered. Finally, at the end of his tether, Bond phoned the only person that he could think of for help.

“Tanner? It’s Bond. I’m not on a secure line.”

“Oh for … hold on a minute.”

Bond waited, drumming his fingers impatiently, as he heard typing before Tanner’s voice drifted back over the line.

“Okay, that should be fine for the minute. Now, considering that I’m talking to you, I can assume that Q got you out. How are you doing, are you injured?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Bill, I need you to do me a favour.”

“I might have guessed. You always do when you call me by my first name. Why do you need me though when Q is with you? Can’t he take care of it?”

“That’s the problem. I need you to find Q for me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Bond. What the hell have you done?”

“There may have been an exchange of words but that’s not the point. Can you find him or not? He’s run off into Venice and it’s probably not a good idea for me to go after him looking like I do but he’s been gone for two hours now and he isn’t picking up his phone.”

“I swear you exist just to make my life difficult. Okay, give me a minute.”

“You can find him?” Relief went coursing through Bond’s veins, the vice around his chest loosening slightly.

“Of course I can bloody find him. After M and Q foiled Denbigh’s plans for Nine Eyes, certain executives were injected with Q’s Smartblood programme as well as the remaining double-0’s. Only Q, M and I have access to the feeds. Right, okay, I’ve got him. He’s fine, Bond. He’s just left Piazza San Marco heading east on the Riva degli Schiavoni.”

Tanner paused before he spoke again. “Look, I’ll phone him but I’m not promising anything; you know how stubborn he can be.”

“I’ll say. Thanks Bill.”

“Just make sure that he comes back in one piece. As far as M is concerned, he’s out with exhaustion and is resting at home; he is not sanctioned to be out saving you.”

“Understood.”

(~*~)

After Bond hung up the phone with Tanner, there was nothing more that Bond could do except return to pacing up and down. It was less than thirty minutes after he had spoken to Tanner when Q practically flew through the door, eyes flashing and spitting in fury.

“What the actual fuck Bond? You called Tanner? Do you think I’m so utterly incompetent that I can’t take a walk around Venice by myself?”

Bond tried to keep his cool but he knew already that this conversation wasn’t going to go well. “When have I ever doubted your competence Q?” He ignored the furious look and sputtered words about spots and carried on talking. “I phoned Tanner because you weren’t answering my calls and I didn’t know if you had taken the Walther with you or not.”

“So much concerned, Bond. I wonder, where was all of this concern in Sölden when I nearly got kidnapped by Spectre goons or in London when I actually got shot?”

“That’s not fucking fair, Q. How was I supposed to know? You never said anything about the ski-lift in Austria and I was a bit preoccupied with Oberhauser in London. If I had known I …”

“If you had known you would have what? You were utterly occupied with Dr Swann, don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

“Don’t try and twist things Q.” Bond could feel his ire rising and he stepped closer, crowding Q up against the wall, scant inches in between them as both of their chests heaved for breath. “I don’t know what I would have done but I wouldn’t have ignored you. You didn’t tell me thought. You didn’t say a word; it was Tanner who told me and he didn’t tell me until six weeks ago.”

“Oh please,” Q scoffed. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you gave up a life of domestic bliss with the wonderful Dr Swann for me? Your male Quartermaster?”

All of a sudden, Bond just felt exhausted as he stepped away, stumbling slightly as he put all of his weight on his injured leg, the action causing Q to make an aborted move forwards. However, when Bond’s leg actually did buckle slightly on his next step, Q darted forward and tucked himself under Bond’s arm, sitting him on the bed and grumbling as he did so.

“And again, you’re supposed to be the best agent we’ve got? What the hell have you been doing? Surely not ripping your stitches out would be the logical course of action.”

“Yes, well. If you hadn’t gone racing off around Venice ignoring phone calls then I wouldn’t have had to resort to pacing up and down, would I?”

“So what, this is all my fault?”

“You ran off!” Bond roared and then swore as Q chose that moment to jam a needle into his thigh again. “I have no idea who those people were who captured me and no way of knowing if they were all dead, you were god knows where and I was … worried.”

“You were worried? Oh please, I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. I’ve no idea why you seem to think me so incapable but I’m an executive of MI6 with the requisite training. I don’t need an arrogant, irritating agent pretending to be worrying about me.”

The instant that Q finished patching him up, he was practically on the other side of the room and Bond resisted the urge to sigh heavily, for once feeling very much his age and beyond this game playing.

“Considering you seem to have such a low opinion of me, I’ll ask again. Why the hell did you bother coming after me? Tanner told me that this isn’t sanctioned. M doesn’t know that you’re here. he thinks that you’re at home recovering from exhaustion. You’ve been avoiding me ever since I came back and it stops now. It’s time to lay the cards on the table for both of us.”

Q eyed him warily but didn’t run away screaming which Bond counted as a positive. “Alright.”

“Tell me honestly, Q. Why did you come here? Tanner said that this wasn’t sanctioned by M which makes me wonder about Austria – was that sanctioned? You’ve never done this for any other agent, double-0 or otherwise, so why? Why me?”

“Why do you get to ask the questions first? That’s hardly fair.”

Q’s position was defensive and put in Bond’s mind a wounded animal that was afraid but still determined to fight. “Just answer the question, Q. Why am I different?”

All of a sudden Q slumped, as though all of the fight and bravado had drained out of him. “Why do you think Bond? You’re hardly stupid.”

“You could have fooled me with the way you talk to me.”

“Yes, well.” Q cleared his throat awkwardly.

When no more words were forthcoming from Q, Bond pressed ahead. “I think you’re in love with me. That’s why. Am I right?”

“Of course you’re bloody right. Yes, I’m in love with you.” Q’s voice was bitter and full of self-loathing as he continued talking. “I did the one thing that I swore to myself I wouldn’t do; join the long list of people fancying themselves in love with 007 himself. Do you know how utterly pathetic I felt at first, joining the countless minions mooning after you when you swanned into Q-branch in those designer suits of yours looking so ridiculously good-looking.”

Bond didn’t say anything. He just watched as Q poured himself a sizeable tumbler of whisky, eyeing Bond’s own shattered remains as he did so, before knocking back the alcohol with ease. “And then, somehow, it got worse because you started flirting. And I flirted back. Nothing wrong with that, I’m pretty sure that anyone with a pulse and a sex drive would respond if you flirted with them. It was fun, I enjoyed it. Only thing is, me being the idiot that I am, I thought it meant something. I thought you were interested in me. So, even though every single part of my brain was screaming at me to not get attached, I did. I treated you differently to the other agents. I made sure that I always ran your missions, was on the other end of the comms every single time. I made gadgets for you that no-one else got and didn’t complain when you discarded them with no thought whatsoever for the time and money that had gone into them. Hell, I even risked my career for you not once but twice.”

Q drained another tumbler of whisky without flinching and the laugh that followed was so harsh and bitter, so unlike Q that it made Bond’s gut twist in guilt. “Do you know how many people warned me about you? Told me that you were feckless, incapable of feeling and forming attachments. That in doing so I would only be hurting myself. Do you? Moneypenny, Tanner, R, M – your M. The list goes on. All of them said the same thing. And I ignored all of them. I fell in love with you.”

Even though he had half-expected to hear those precise words, actually hearing them from Q’s lips was like a punch to Bond’s solar plexus. Q was in love with him. Or, at least he had been. Quickly tamping down on the elation that was starting to thrum through his veins, Bond turned his attention back to Q.

“How stupid could I have been? Falling in love with the legendary lothario, the phoenix himself, 007. Despite the mutual flirting, you never seemed to push for anything more. You simply carried on sleeping with people and leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you. So, I decided to try one last thing.”

Realisation hit Bond before Q spoke. “The Aston.”

He had barely breathed the words but Q had heard him. “The Aston. I thought that if there was one thing that would give you a clue, it would be that. The number of hours that I put in on that car was ridiculous. You didn’t see though. And then, to add insult to injury, you took the car and left with her.” Q smiled sadly. “I was actually naïve enough to think that when you came back, maybe you came back for me. I should have known better. You may as well have ripped my heart out of my chest and trampled all over it, the hurt you caused me that day.

And then you have the audacity to swan back into my branch some six months later as though nothing has changed. And you want to know the most galling thing? I still love you, you fucking bastard.”

Bond was silent for several long minutes as he tried to gather his thoughts into some semblance of order. While Q had confirmed what Bond wanted to hear – namely that he was in love with Bond – he had hardly sounded happy about that fact. Besides that, Bond was going to have to do something that he had never been good at; talk about his feelings. Unfortunately, Q took his silence to mean something else.

“Would you just bloody say something? Christ, you can even laugh at me if that’s what you want but would you just say something? Or are you so horrified by what I’ve admitted?”

“Horrified? Q, why would I be horrified?”

“You mean there’s another reaction to your male quartermaster admitting that they’re in love with you?”

“Joy? I mean, yes, if it had been Boothroyd telling me he was in love with me I probably would have jumped out of the nearest window. But you? The opposite of horrified. Trust me.”

Q gave a sort of dismissive snort at Bond’s words but Bond forced himself to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up. Not if he wanted Q to a) remain in his life and b) become a bigger part of his life.

“This would go a hell of a lot easier if you didn’t automatically assume you know what I’m thinking and feeling. Now, before I start talking properly, I want you to agree to something. I listened to you without interruption, I’d like to think you can extend me the same courtesy. Yes?”

Bond waited for Q to agree and then, after giving himself a mental shake, he started talking. “First of all, you need to stop this ridiculous preconception you seem to have that there is no possibly way that I could be attracted to a man. It is precisely that; ridiculous. I will readily admit that I have never been in a relationship with a man but I have been attracted to men before and I have been involved with men; I’ve just never seen the need to broadcast the information. Besides which, I’ve always tried to avoid entanglements at MI6; things get messy if it doesn’t work and, well, I’ve never thought anyone worth it until recently.”

Bond caught Q’s eye-roll out of the corner of his eye but, as he had promised, Q remained silent. Bond eyed the tumbler of whisky longingly but refused to give in to the temptation and carried on talking instead.

“You’re right to call me a fucking bastard. I am a fucking bastard. But, it’s easier to be that than deal with the pain that inevitably ensues when I allow myself to fall in love. [You … you have no idea how hard it is for me to actually say all of this.] The truth is, I might have this reputation as a love them and leave them type of man but that doesn’t mean I want it or that I can’t do fidelity. Because I can. If I love someone enough, then I will do everything in my power to give them the world and I’ve only ever loved like that three times before in my life. The first was my wife Tracy; she was killed on our wedding day. The second was Vesper. I left the service for her but she betrayed me and I had to watch her drown here in Venice.”

Bond saw Q soften slightly but, rather than comment on it, he simply carried on talking. “I didn’t leave with Dr Swann – Madeleine – because I loved her. Everybody expected me to kill Oberhauser and then, well, I don’t know. So I did the unexpected simply because people didn’t think I would. Don’t get me wrong, I suppose that I loved Madeleine in some way – she is a brilliant, intelligent and beautiful woman – but I was never head over heels in love with her, I never loved her as she deserved. Besides, me living with a psychologist? I should have known that it had the word disaster written all over it.

But, joking aside, Austria gave me time to think. Too much time it felt like while I was there. I realised two things. Firstly, that I will never truly be able to leave MI6, not voluntarily. I’ve tried it twice to date and it hasn’t gone well either time. The sedentary life isn’t for me. It may be appealing from time to time but I can’t do it long term; I get cabin fever too quickly. I belong in MI6, as a double-0. The only way I’ll be leaving now is in a body bag. As for the second thing. Well, the only thing that I missed more than the job was you. And between that, a few probing questions and a lot of time to think, I came to the realisation that not only did I miss you but I loved – love – you as well.”

The words were actually easier to say than Bond had expected but his heart was still hammering as though he had been running for his life.

“It was Madeleine who realised first although I have Tanner to thank as well. When I left, Tanner gave me a burner phone, one that wasn’t sanctioned by MI6 and one that only he had the number to. He kept me up to date with what was going on in London whenever he could. It was Tanner who told me what had happened in Sölden and then again in London. But, it took him almost six months to tell me because he thought that I already knew what had happened to you. When he told me, I was reeling. I’d already established that I missed you the most out of everyone at Vauxhall but that phone call, that information, tipped me over the edge. I think I knew then, at least subconsciously, that what I felt for you was far more than friendship. That I was in love with you.

I didn’t deal well with what Tanner had told me. I kept having nightmares – not unusual in my line of work – but, according to Madeleine, I kept waking up screaming your name. Apparently, from the day of Tanner’s call, I didn’t have a single night of restful sleep. It was that which told Madeleine that something was going on. She told me her suspicions and basically told me to make a decision between her and MI6. Between her and you.

It forced me to think. I scrutinised every aspect of our friendship from the minute that we met until the minute that I left. It made me aware of a lot of things. Things that maybe I had taken for granted without truly realising them. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone at Vauxhall like the one that we shared; it was entirely unique. Perhaps that was why I never truly acknowledged that all of my flirting was reciprocated, why I never took things further; I didn’t want to jeopardise what we had.

I don’t think I’ve ever done as much soul-searching as I did then. Usually I try and avoid it; I don’t like it. A life like mine has too many opportunities for regret; it’s easier to not look back. The past will devour you whole if you let it. I’ve been there, I’ve done that and I don’t want to go back. I regret the way that I was cruel to you, I regret that it took me so long to get here, to be able to say this but I love you and that isn’t going to change.”

Getting to his feet, and doing his best not to wince as his stitches pulled, Bond crossed the room to where Q sat. Q looked somewhat confused but something in Bond’s face made him rise to his feet. Reaching out, Bond brushed his knuckles against Q’s cheek before sliding his hand round to tangle in Q’s hair. The sheer amount of hope in Q’s eyes was terrifying but Bond wasn’t going to let that stop him. Not when he had come this far.

Leaning in slowly, not wanting to rush anything, Bond leaned in to kiss Q, determined to savour every minute. Wanting to see every single detail of Q’s reaction, Bond kept his eyes open as he pressed his lips to Q’s, intent on pouring every single scrap of what he was feeling into the kiss. He didn’t hold back.

Love, fear, desire, hope.

All of it.

For several long moments Q was stiff against him and Bond worried that he’d overplayed his hand. That, despite everything that he had said, it was too little too late and he’d missed his chance. Disappointment raced through him and he was just about to pull back when Q finally surged to life against him. In complete opposition to his previous stance as a passive recipient, Q all but melted into Bond’s embrace, one hand coming up to fist itself in Bond’s shirt-front.

Bond pulled back just far enough that he could see Q’s face only when breath proved absolutely necessary and brushed his thumb against Q’s bottom lip. “I’m not going to lie. Feeling like this terrifies me. I said I’ve only ever loved completely and utterly three times in my life. You’re the third.”

“Bond. _James.”_

This time it was Q who leant in to initiate the kiss. From the start it was something different. Both of them were now willing participants in this. Bond smiled as Q wrapped his arms around Bond's neck, threading his fingers their Bond's hair and prolonging the kiss. Not that Bond was complaining. Kissing Q was addictive.

Q’s lips were pliant under his and when Bond swiped his tongue against the seam of Q’s lips, they opened with alacrity. He could taste sweetness, bergamot and something that was entirely Q. As they continued to kiss, Bond’s hands started to roam Q’s back and arse. When Q made no protest, Bond started to divest Q of his clothing, Q’s hands coming up to help him until Q was sprawled naked on the bed.

Bond had the feeling that Q had never really considered himself to be attractive if the way that he was blushing under Bond's scrutiny was anything to go by. What Bond couldn't understand why. Now that Bond had Q naked and in his bed, he was staring at Q like a man would stare at an oasis in the desert. As Bond continued to stare, Q made an attempt to cover himself with his hands that Bond quickly put a stop to. Instead, he continued to drink his fill, watching as a gorgeous rosy flush spread across the acres of pale skin. Bond did his best to repress his grin as Q resorted to type - and sarcasm - in an attempt to cover up the fact that he was feeling uncomfortable.

"Are you planning on getting naked any time soon or were you just planning on staring at me all night?"

"If you wanted me naked Q, all you had to do was ask." Given that he was only half-dressed after Q's earlier ministrations, Bond made quick work of the shirt and boxers that he had been wearing until he was standing naked in front of Q.

Then, it was Q's turn to stare.

Bond wasn't ashamed of his body - he never had been - but he had to consciously make an effort to not fidget as Q scrutinised him in turn. He knew that he was physically in good shape for his age. Yes, there were parts of him that ached and hurt all the time but that was to be expected given his job and, other than far too much alcohol, he looked after himself. However, ribbed abs or not, he was hyper aware of every single scar, a lifetimes wounds etched into his skin. He forced himself to meet Q's gaze head on when Q finally looked at him and was relieved to see no horror or disgust in Q’s face. Instead, much to his relief, the only thing that Bond could see was lust.

He stepped forward as Q traced gentle fingers over several of the scars before tracing others with his tongue. Before he had the chance to pay attention to all of them, Bond swooped down and took control of Q’s mouth in a kiss that was as possessive as it was passionate, pressing him back onto the bed and crawling after him. Only when breath was an absolute necessity did Bond’s mouth leave Q’s, moved down to his jaw-line and his chest before moving further down his body. Bond paid attention to Q’s ribs and hipbones before he licked a broad swathe along the crease at the top of Q’s thighs. His cock twitched as Q’s legs spread wider of their own accord when Bond peppered his inner thighs with gentle nips and kisses.

Bond had had some beautiful sights in his bed over the years but he was sure that this topped all of them. Thighs spread obscenely and already looking thoroughly debauched, Bond had never seen anyone look as delectable as Q. He had never wanted anybody more but, even so, he had no intention of rushing this. Q was clearly not of the same opinion as his hands scrabbled at the bed covers.

“Fuck, Bond, James, please. _Please,_ more.”

That seemed to be the only encouragement that Bond needed, as he moved to find a vial of oil before returning to his previous task with alacrity. Q’s hands scrabbled on Bond’s shoulders as the older man finally licked a thick stripe up the underside of his cock before engulfing it in his mouth. Bond pulled back long enough to slick his fingers with oil before taking Q’s cock back into his mouth as he grazed his fingers over Q’s perineum. The licking and sucking continued as Bond inserted one finger into Q, unable to believe the tightness, distracting him as he was slowly stretched, adding fingers when he felt Q was ready and steadily preparing him for his cock. Q speared his hands into short blond hair at one particularly strong suck before Bond pulled his mouth away, clearly not wanting Bond to stop. Even though he had diverted his attention from Q’s cock, Bond kept his fingers scissoring inside Q, unerringly searching out that bundle of nerves and stroking over it until Q was lifting his arse, bucking as though he was trying to take Bond’s fingers further into his body, keening his pleasure as he did so. This was what Bond had wanted, what he had almost never realised he wanted. This. Q in his bed. Q falling apart at his hands.

Despite Bond wanting to take things slowly, to savour them, Q clearly had no intention of waiting for Bond to put the condom on himself and, in a fairly impressive contortion act, managed to locate and rip open the packet before rolling the condom onto Bond, all the while keeping Bond’s fingers inside him. Bond took the hint and, barely pausing, removed his fingers from Q and replaced them with his cock. He pressed in steadily until he was buried balls-deep in Q, until the back of Q's thighs were pressing into the front of his and then he paused, hands clamped down on Q’s hips to keep him as still as possible. Q’s didn’t protest; he simply wound his legs around Bond’s waist, spreading himself wider and fully pulling Bond’s bulk on top of him. Bond had absolutely no complaints about Q's actions, however his thigh did and the position that they were currently in was putting far too much pressure on the wound to make it pleasurable for Bond. Q caught his wince and pulled back, unwrapping himself from around Bond with a worried look on his face, although not far enough to remove himself from Bond's cock.

“James, we shouldn’t be doing this. Your leg…”

Bond did his best to not roll his eyes but he had the feeling that he wasn't entirely successful.

“Q, if you think that is going to stop me, you have another thing coming. I’ve waited long enough for this; a simple bullet wound isn’t going to make me wait any longer. We’ll just have to be inventive.”

“Why does that not fill me with confidence, 007?”

Bond nipped at Q’s collarbone, grinning at the yelp and clenching around his cock that he got in response. “Back to being 007, am I? You wound me, Q. I’ll take far more care with you than I do with everything else.”

"Does that include my heart?" Q’s tone might be aiming for light-hearted but there was no denying the seriousness of his words.

"That especially includes your heart. I swear."

Pressing one more firm kiss to Q's lips, Bond withdrew from Q and flipped so that he lay on his back, coaxing Q into straddling his hips so that Bond’s thumbs rested on Q’s hipbones while his fingers were splayed over Q’s pert and, quite frankly, delicious arse. Thankfully, Q caught on to what he wanted and raised himself on his knees, hands resting on Bond’s chest as support.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. This way you have all of the control and we don't do any more damage to my leg. Besides, I get a great view.”

"Pervert."

"No. Simply a connoisseur of beauty."

Q huffed a laugh. "You already have me in your bed Bond, don't try too hard."

"I only speak the truth."

"Hmmmm."

Both of them groaned as Q lowered himself slowly, his hands clinging to Bond’s shoulders in an almost vice-like grip, taking more of Bond into himself with every breath. Both their bodies were slick with sweat and they were breathing heavily as Q slowly inched down Bond’s cock, sheathing the older man in his body.

Only when his arse was pressed into the cradle of Bond’s hips did Q open eyes that had slid shut of their own accord, revealing pupils that had blown so much there was only a thin rim of green showing around them. At Bond’s encouragement, Q started to rock his hips incrementally, gasping at the sensations the action produced. Slowly, as Q got more comfortable with the feeling of James inside him, he tensed his thighs and started to move himself up and down, aided by the hands gripping his hips, riding Bond’s cock.

It was a glorious sight. One that Bond was certainly never going to get sick of.

Q was quickly turning out to be Bond’s favourite kind of lover; particularly responsive, knowing exactly what he wanted, not wanting to kill him (or at least Bond hoped not) and not afraid to be vocal about it. Whimpers, keens and wordless cries escaped his lips along with pleas for more, all of it clearly heard over the slight creaking of the bed and the sound of Bond’s own grunts. For his part, for all the people that he had slept with, Bond had never experienced anything like this. The sex had been incredible with both Tracy and Vesper but this managed to eclipse what he had had with both women, even if he couldn't explain why.

Q was tight and hot and just perfect around him, clenching around Bond almost unconsciously and the sight of Q riding his cock was going to be permanently etched into Bond’s brain. Q’s throat was bared as he arched his back to ensure deeper penetration and that Bond raked across his prostate with every thrust.

“Stroke yourself.”

Q did so, his rhythm faltering somewhat as he was overcome by the dual sensations. Bond took over, using his grip on Q’s hips as leverage, raising his hips as best as he could while Q lowered himself and driving himself into Q. It wasn’t quite enough and, not for the first time that evening, Bond cursed the bastard that had put a bullet in his thigh. Still, all he could do was make the best of it.

Bond snuck his hand in between them, wrapping around Q’s hand that was already gripping his cock, and stroking together in time with his thrusts. Q wailed, literally wailed, as he came, spilling himself over their joined hands and Bond’s stomach. Tensing his stomach muscles and using his free hand to prop himself up, Bond focused on driving up into Q’s tight, clenching heat. It didn’t take too many thrusts before Bond was coming with a roar, collapsing back against the sheets with Q slumped over his chest.

Now sated from his orgasm, Q's movements were somewhat sluggish as he lifted himself off Bond's softening cock to sprawl face down on the rumpled sheets. Satiated himself and with exhaustion starting to set in, Bond couldn't face moving over to the en-suite to get something to clean them up with, the simple task seeming as though it required herculean effort. Instead, he stretched one arm out, wincing as his ribs protested the movement, and managed to snag the edge of one of his shirt cuffs, dragging it closer. Prodding Q over just enough, Bond wiped him clean, feeling his cock twitch slightly at the mewl Q gave as the fabric brushed across overly sensitive skin. Cursorily swiping the shirt over himself, Bond tossed it over the edge of the bed and lay back onto sheets damp with the sweat of their exertions. To his amusement - and delight - it took Q all of five seconds to abandon the actual pillows for Bond's shoulder, pressing a sleepy kiss to the skin before pressing his face into Bond's neck and going limp along Bond's side.

Pressing his own kisses to Q's shoulder and temple, an alien feeling of contentment suffusing him, Bond settled in for a nap. After all, he had all the time in the world now. All was, finally, right in his world.

~*~

“Do you know how angry I am at myself?”

Bond paused momentarily before continuing his self-appointed task of kissing every inch of Q’s naked back, speaking in between kisses. “Can’t imagine. You must be furious.”

His attempt to plant a final kiss at the top of Q’s spine was thwarted when Q rolled over, a distinctly unhappy look on his face and anger flashing once more in his eyes; a distinct contrast to the blissed out pleasure of the last couple of hours.

“Don’t get glib with me. I have every right to be angry at myself. I can’t believe that I fell into bed after a few undoubtedly well-practised lines from your silver tongue. I can’t believe I’ve been so … so fucking easy.”

Bond clamped his hands down on Q’s hips, more than a little afraid that Q was going to try and make a dash for it. “Okay, first of all, would you stop deriding yourself? You haven’t been ‘fucking easy’, far from it. Q, both us have wanted what happened in the last few hours for a long time; it just happened sooner rather than later after we discussed things. I don’t regret anything that we’ve done. I regret that I fucked things up and we haven’t been doing this for six months but I can’t change that now. All we can do now is move forward.”

Bond relaxed fractionally as the ire in Q’s eyes faded and his arms crept up to snake around Bond’s neck.

“I know I’m not worthy of you Q and, this evening aside, I will probably never say this enough, but I love you. I will love you until my dying breath and I will do my very best to ensure that you never doubt me.”

Q entwined himself around Bond, kissing him until they were both breathless. “For someone who claims to be bad at talking about his feelings, you do have a pretty way with words Bond. Honestly, as long as you show me you love me, I’ll probably say the words enough for both of us.”

It was Bond’s turn to kiss Q breathless at that and when Bond pulled back, Q had a wicked little smirk on his face – a smirk that did things to Bond – as he reached between them to palm Bond’s cock.

“Now, I do believe that I’m supposed to be in bed suffering from exhaustion. I do so hate to lie to M so, injured leg or not, you’d better put your back into it, 007.”

Bond gave a low chuckle, smirking as he felt the shudder that went through Q at the sound. Oh, how he loved this man. He knew that he was never going to regret taking that risk and stepping over the edge into love once more.

“Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on LJ, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.livejournal.com/232864.html)


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